


Trading Words

by Maybethings



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Foreign Language, Gen, Language Barrier, Languages and Linguistics, Qun, Qunlat, conlang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-23
Updated: 2012-04-23
Packaged: 2017-11-04 18:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very young Sten meets a chatty bas—the first who’s not out to blow him up with magic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trading Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goddessofcheese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcheese/gifts).



“Coo! Yorra biggun,” said the human youth in awe, rubbing the lump on his head. Karasaad blinked down at him as he picked himself up, dusting himself off. The sounds were just that: sounds. The young Qunari did not grasp their meaning or context, or the way they ran together, nor did he know where the boy had come from before barreling into him and falling head over buttocks onto the ground. He clearly wasn’t a combatant, and certainly did not seem capable of serious aggression. “Wadudei evan feejoo?! Wassur nehm?” he blathered on.

Karasaad frowned and shook his head. _Not speak_ —no, that wasn’t right. There was a word or two missing, a gap in expression that he could not fill. _Does not? Do not? I not?_

“Yudon…yunospik kingtang?” Karasaad glared at the bas boy. Even he knew that sounded wrong. The boy regarded him thoughtfully, then slapped his hand across his chest, grinning. “Samuel.” And he repeated it, slowly, in a tone that was nothing but encouraging.

Oh. Right. A name. Karasaad debated for a while on whether to give his, and decided it wouldn’t hurt. ”Karasaad,” he responded.

“Cureasud?”

“Karasaad,” he said slowly, emphasising the ebb and flow of the vowels. And then, he tried. “Samehl?”

“Samew-el.”

“Samaal.”

“No, Samu…rait. Sam. I’m Sam. Sam is good.”

“Sam,” Karasaad said firmly. “Sam. Karasaad.”

“Karasaad.” The boy grinned once more. “Nobbad.”

“SAMUEL!” someone roared behind the boy. “GETCHORAAS ONDASHEP!”

“Shit.” Karasaad knew _vashedan_ when he heard it. “Gotta go. Farewell, Karasaad.”

“ _Panahedan,_ ” he began to say, but somewhere along the line his signals got crossed. “Well,” he heard himself say, and his hand went up in a gesture that mirrored the youth’s.

“‘Well-met!” Samuel whooped, and turned to disappear toward the docks.

All night the words flow quietly through Karasaad’s head, _well farewell Samehl Samuel met well_ , and he lets them pour quietly from his lips until the Karashok pokes him in the back and tells him, in heavy, irritated Qunlat, to _shut his mouth_ and _go to sleep._


End file.
